


Don't Call Me Darling

by redpetaledfury



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bar Scene, F/M, Female Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 21:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpetaledfury/pseuds/redpetaledfury
Summary: Deenie works through her feelings about the Blade, helped(?) by Crowley. He helps... so much.





	Don't Call Me Darling

**Author's Note:**

> There is some overlap with the dialogue of the show. Obviously I didn't write that part. This starts at "Mother's Little Helper" and ends somewhere after "King of the Damned."

“Don’t call me darling.”

Deenie is staring at Crowley with steel in her eyes, a drink in her hand, and a whole lot of rage.

Crowley takes a step back, hands raised. “Woah. Simmer down, pumpkin. I meant nothing by it.”

The hunter looks for a split second like she’s going to gut him, then and there. Then she turns back to the pool table, downing her whiskey in one swig.

It’s bourbon. Her dad’s favorite. If he could see her now.

“It’s a means to an end,” John would probably say, referring to the First Blade. “You use it for the job. No point being squeamish when there’s work to be done.”

But she was squeamish. Truth tell, she was straight spooked. As many people as she had killed in her life, nothing had ever made her feel that way -- like a pure goddamned fucking killing machine. She was used to killing, but with precision, out of need. Not… not like this. Not with this relentless fucking _power_.

She was afraid.

She was afraid of the surety of it, the calm. She had never been so sure of a thing in her life as she had been holding that blade. It was a drug, that certainty. A peace, filling her mind with violent need, a single purpose. Kill. Take away the life that is plaguing this fragile earth, and be content that your works are good.

She was also afraid of the ease with which the kill had come. Most kills, she had to work for. The First Blade gave her the instinctive knowledge of how to move, where to strike. The kill was easy. Kills should never be easy, should they? (Sometimes, maybe, but not always. Right?)

Mostly, she was afraid of what would happen if she got done killing the things that needed killing, and turned, and saw an ally. Saw her brother. Would she be able to stop? Would she pull back? Would she be able to think at all?

Or would this blind, murderous rage consume her, and condemn her to hell yet again?

Yeah, those feelings? They scared her. Hence her deflection to Crowley’s original question, a few minutes ago:

_“Just between us girls, how did you feel when you sunk the first blade into Magnus’s head?”_

_“Not half as good as I’m gonna feel when it’s yours.”_

And then Crowley had cocked an eyebrow, and made a suggestive comment, taking the cue-ball and guiding it along the table and up into his hand. He was screwing with her game, and she hated it but also couldn’t say anything about it, lest she come off as being something less than tough. 

She had settled for glaring, and waiting for him to let go of the ball. In the meantime, she had pondered his voice. That voice… suggestive, playful, grab-you-by-the-navel. Then she decided she was not going to think about that, because deep down she found him to be somewhat cute and fuckable and that was a subject that she tried to keep her brain away from at all costs.

And then he had told her that she was scared, and called her darling.

She had nearly clocked him. Instead, she settled for downing her drink and heading to the bar.

“I love this. I really do. A couple of beers, a kinda jukebox. Good and evil, bro-ing down.”

Deenie sat at the bar, game abandoned. The demon had followed her over. Why wouldn’t he go away? Yeah, she had called him and hung up, but that was hardly an invitation.

“Shut your pie hole, Crowley.”

“Yeah, you said that already. Look, I merely suggested you might be a bit scared.”

Ugh. Why did he have to keep harping on this? Did he really expect her to admit it? Deenie didn’t do vulnerable. Not with demons, anyway.

And then he had gotten to the heart of the matter. Said she was just like Cain. What the fuck did he know?

She was nothing like Cain. She would never be like Cain.

“Nothing like --- who are you talking to? I know you’re not talking to me.”

“Eat me.”

“I saw you. I saw the two of you together. Nothing like Cain? What’s in that bottle, delusion? I’m really starting to worry about you, Deenie.”

The fact that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to make a sexual joke in that moment was evidence of how seriously he was taking this. What was with him? The guy needed to lighten up.

“Yeah, well, why don’t you worry about yourself?”

“I will. ‘Cause like it or not, we’re in this together. Your problems, my problems… our problems.”

Our. Together. Deenie avoided looking at him. Then he got up.

“Where you going now?”

“I’m going to water the lily. Care to join me?” He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Deenie bit down on a sigh and turned away.

And then that hunter had come along, young and green, and Deenie had put a stop to that right quick. Like it or not, she still needed Crowley… and the Blade.

That moment of action gave her the resolve she had been looking for. Dad was right. What mattered was the mission. Whatever else happened… she would deal with it later.

“Demons don’t take leaks. Next time you want to shoot up, why don’t you find a better excuse?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“What happened? I thought you were cleaning up your act.”

“Well I was going to, but then after very little soul-searching, I decided to embrace my addiction.” He narrowed his eyes. “What about you? Takes a junkie to know a junkie. You just want to touch that precious again, don’t you?”

The seductive way he said this made her think of him, touching him, making him gasp, but she firmly pushed that thought away.

“I just want to kill Abaddon. That’s what I want. So whatever happens with the Blade, I can’t worry about that.”

Some more banter later, and it was agreed: “I find her, you bring the Blade.”

“It’s a date.”

She glared at him. Then she stalked to the car. She didn’t see or hear the conversation that took place behind her.

~~~~~~~

Abaddon is dead. Metatron is losing. Finally, things can get back to normal.

Or was that normal? She supposed it was.

She sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey. Things were looking up. One of their enemies was dead, heaven would be sorted out in due time, hell was quickly coming back into its proper order, and she was here. With the First Blade. And alcohol in front of her.

Now if only she could get Sam to stop being such a baby about the First Blade, things might actually be okay for the first time in… years.

“Well, don’t you look a picture.”

Crowley sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat next to her. “Scotch, neat,” he said to the bartender. A place like this only had one scotch, so it’s not like he needed to be specific. Then he turned to the woman sitting next to him.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you look a bit lonely, Deenie.”

She finished her whiskey, contemplated the empty glass for a long moment, and turned to him. “Then why don’t you help me fix that?”

He gaped at her, until she grabbed hold of his collar and yanked him towards the ladies room.

Before he realized what was happening, he found himself shoved into a stall. Landing on the toilet seat, he steadied himself. She locked the door behind them. Her eyes focused on him with intention and, swinging a leg around, she sat down to face him.

“When I say jump, you say how high. Got it?” she murmured.

Heart in his throat, he nodded.

Their first kiss was more devouring than kissing. Lips forceful, hand at his throat, she made his face her plaything in a way that had him begging for respite. Meanwhile, her other hand crept down his chest to his trousers, reaching inside. He grunted and shifted in his seat, worming his way out of his clothes to make himself more comfortable.

“Now, let’s see if you were lying about that deal,” she growled.

“Kitten,” he gasped. “I never lie about that.” As her fingers reached for him, he made quick work of her pants zipper and reached for her hips, sliding her jeans down until they met resistance from the spread of her legs. Then he hissed. Her hand was going to work on him.

“Huh,” she said, grinning. “I guess we can say you told the truth once in your life.” She stepped back for a moment and shimmied out of her jeans.

As Deenie settled back on him, guiding him inside her for the first time, he groaned. Hell’s balls, she felt good. They moved together for several moments, him jerking beneath her while she wrapped her arms around his neck and used him for leverage. Eventually she began to slow down, and he knew --- time to turn the tables.

She was close to reaching orgasm when she found herself pinned, her back against the side of the stall, Crowley pressing into her with relentless intensity. He had taken control. Lifting her up and keeping her tight against him, he pounded into her smoothly and powerfully. The suddenness of it all made her exclaim, but it felt so damn *good*. As they moved, he drove harder, and more urgently, her back hitting against the metal wall. She could feel the bruises beginning to form on the tops of her hips. And inside… inside, he was making her stretch.

She was holding on for dear life, and she could barely breathe.

He slowed. “You all right?”

Blinking back tears, she grasped his shoulders, tightened her legs around him, and thrust against him again. “Shut up,” she said. She’d asked for this, hadn’t she? And dammit, she was going to enjoy it.

His efforts renewed, and her cries came unbidden. Usually it took a while for a guy to find the right spot, but he was _there_, right away, and she was losing control as he brought her to the brink. She barely noticed when he took her wrists to pin them above her with one hand, using his other hand to reach under her shirt and fondle her nipples, dig his thumb into her neck, his kisses growing rougher and hers weaker. She was panting helplessly, still immersed in his attentions, when she felt something enter her from behind. The sensation of all of it came crashing into her and she screamed, and he gasped, growing still as he came, keeping his finger in her even as she squirmed against it.

Then his hold released, and she slumped against the stall in the aftermath of orgasm. Regaining her senses, she shoved him away from her. “What the fuck?” she spat.

He was tidying himself, a smirk on his lips. “What? You liked it.”

“I…” she stared at him, breathing hard.

He batted his eyes at her and sidled closer. “Want me to do it again?”

“Fuck you.”

“You just did,” he said, softly. Then he dropped to his knees and, before she knew it, he was putting his tongue inside her and she froze again, ecstatic with feeling. Her words died as his tongue stroked her insides, whiskers prickling her sensitive areas in an exquisite juxtaposition of pain and pleasure. Her legs were going weak and she was slowly collapsing, bracing herself against the tampon box and the toilet paper holder as she tried to keep herself up. His hands come up to support her thighs, keeping her suspended above him. He was stronger than he looked.

She keened as he brought her to orgasm once more, the waves hitting her with all the power of the open sea. When he took his mouth away, she really did collapse, sliding to the floor half-naked and breathing hard.

Crowley was dabbing at his lips with some toilet paper, for all the world looking like he’d just finished a fine meal. He offered her a hand up. Not meeting his eyes, she took it.

When Deenie had finished fixing her clothes, the demon cupped her cheek in his hand. Startled, she looked at him.

“Hey,” he said softly. “There was nothing shameful about that. Nothing at all.”

“Of course not,” Deenie said scathingly, batting him away. Patronizing fucker. Did he really think her self-esteem was that low?

“Next time, though, I do hope you’ll be a bit more experimental.” He licked his thumb suggestively.

At that, she gut-punched him. Sliding past his doubled-up form, she left the stall. Then she turned.

“Crowley?” she said.

He wheezed. “Yes, pet?” He was still hunched over, trying to catch the air that had been knocked out of him.

“Every now and then I ask myself, ‘Do I want Crowley dead?’ And every time I ask it, I never know which way I’m going to answer.”

She considered the cracked, graffitied wall in front of her, and continued.

“Most days, it’s ‘yes.’ Some days, it’s ‘no.’” She rested one hand on the First Blade at her hip. “Mention this to anyone? And the answer will change to ‘yes’ and ‘right now.’”

He grunted his understanding. Grimly satisfied, she left the room.

Crowley eyed the swinging door as it shut, and smiled. Threats aside, he was in a good place. Things had just gotten very interesting for Moose and Squirrel.


End file.
